


Hear You, Feel You

by Wafflesrock



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Sign Language, deafness, turian sign language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wafflesrock/pseuds/Wafflesrock
Summary: A deaf turian and a deaf human meet over the extranet and hit it off. A short delve into HC for deaf turians.
Relationships: Original Male Human Character(s)/Original Female Turian Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

Coronis was born deaf. Fortunately, she was also born in an age of technology and text message communication. She worked for a large tech company on Palaven and enjoyed the job. She could type faster than anyone she knew and veiled by the invisible shield of the extranet, people only learned about her disability if she chose to tell them. Though, sometimes, she did want to talk in person.  
  
 _Lingua vocular,_ the subvocal language of the deaf, was straight forward enough. Most turians understood the reverberating, subharmonic speech. After all, the Hierarchy employed a form of it for stealth operations.   
  
When it came to romance, her non-deaf dates didn’t catch all the nuisances contained in the different vocalizations, but usually the emotion and gist got through. She was spared having to rely too heavily on typing into her omni-tool and having the VI mechanically spit back what she’d written. _That_ was a real mood killer.

Despite her occasional struggles with communication, Coronis enjoyed an easy life in Cipritine. But she felt stagnant. Still living in her hometown, seeing the same faces, same places, day, after day, after day. When the opportunity came to transfer to the Citadel, she lunged at it with greedy talons.

Her employer was aware she was handicapped, and her direct supervisor wore a vocal amplifier on the inside of his cowl to better pick up on her subharmonics and the wavering, lyrical way she spoke. She still preferred to message him information or questions, but his efforts to help her fit in meant more than she could ever express.

She settled in quickly to life and work on the Citadel, and sooner than she’d anticipated, felt ready to explore what romantic options the station offered. Not via a website, but in chat rooms and message boards. Places where she could meet people who shared her interests without her inability to hear being the focus of conversation. She had a great many interests; Galaxy of Fantasy, designer plate shimmer, and the newest craze sweeping the Citadel, Ultimate Frisbee.

Frisbee was a human game that had become popular among the other Citadel species. Coronis had watched a few games before looking up the rules. She’d decided to join a team—nothing serious, just for fun—and had messaged the captain of a group located in her ward.

He was a human, which wasn’t surprising given that it _was_ a human game. What she hadn’t anticipated was having so much in common with him. In addition to Ultimate Frisbee, Armon was an avid Galaxy of Fantasy player who also enjoyed comics and art. In fact, they were both avid admirers of a renowned hanar artist and they each owned the same print from his seminal _Beneath the Waves_ series. 

They began chatting outside the forums, and Coronis was always eager to hear about Armon’s day. But, when he suggested meeting up for coffee and kava, she hesitated. She wanted to, but it was already tricky with other turians who at least had a basic grasp of lingua vocular. A human wouldn’t understand her at all—she wasn’t even sure they were capable of picking up on the distinct rumbles, chirps, and vibrations without a cowl.

“At least give him a chance,” her coworker said after Coronis had explained her predicament. “I’m friends with a couple humans, they’re more capable than you’d think. If it’s too much, you can just stay friends.”

Deciding that with a new city and job she could take another step outside her comfort zone, Coronis agreed to meet Armon for kava.

 **“Just so you know,”** she typed to him after considering how to phrase things. **“I’m deaf. I speak in a turian subvocal language I’m not sure you can understand. We’ll probably need to rely on omni-tools.”** She sighed, hoping he wouldn’t think that sounded too burdensome.

**“Seriously, you’re deaf? So am I!”**

Coronis stared dumbly at the glowing orange interface of her omni-screen.

**“You are?”  
**

**“Yeah! I have an auditory implant which helps, but I predominantly speak using sign language. It’s a type of language composed of hand and finger gestures.”**

Coronis tried to settle on an emotion. She was delighted to meet someone who intimately understood her world and its challenges, but at the same time, if Armon was deaf and spoke with a hand language... Well, this date was looking to be even more complicated than she’d thought.

The following morning, Coronis arrived early to the fusion cafe where they’d agreed to meet. She’d buffed her plates until they gleamed bronze under the lights. The stark white of her colony markings shone radiantly against the ivory and lilac tunic she’d selected. She’d even used some shimmer power on the plates around her eyes; a pale gold to make the silver in her irises stand out.

Armon had told her he’d be coming from morning Frisbee practice and would be dressed in a red and white jersey with black shorts. He’d also mentioned he had black, wavy hair which Coronis felt was a better descriptor since she always noticed human hair. Most turians did, given how unique it looked. She’d heard it had different textures. _Is it rude in human culture to ask to touch someone’s hair?_

As she pondered this, a lean human male clad in a red and white shirt walked into the cafe. He scanned the large seating area before his eyes landed on her. His face split into a toothy grin. Coronis waved to him, mandibles fluttering nervously.

Armon sat across from her, wavy hair covering the tops of his ears and falling just over his eyebrows. _That’s what the arcs of hair above human eyes are called, right?_

He gave her a small wave before signing something to her. Coronis’ mandibles pulled down in frustration as she shook her head. _“I can’t understand you,”_ she vocalized, laying her palms flat on the tabletop so the vibrations would carry.

Armon’s eyes went wide as he stared down at the tabletop before lifting them to meet hers. His eyes were a deep, luminous brown that reminded her of barrel aged brandy.

 _“Again?”_ she asked. 

Armon’s smile brought to mind dawn breaking over the inland ocean that boarded Cipritine; bright, warm and all consuming. Reaching across the table he took her larger hand in his, smiling encouragingly.

Coronis felt her mandibles dip and flare in agreement. _“I can’t believe you can feel it. I hope… I wonder if you could learn lingua vocular?”_

Armon squeezed her hand excitedly—at least he seemed excited—before pulling away and opening his omni-tool.

 **“I’ve never felt language before.”** She read his text as it appeared on her own tool. **“Your words are like a literal massage. Can you teach me? I’ll teach you Alliance sign language.”  
**

Coronis took Armon’s hands in her own. Their fingers interlaced in an awkward, but decidedly nice way. _“I’ll teach you and you teach me,”_ she vocalized. _“We’ll learn to speak together.”_


	2. Paint

_ “What?” _ Coronis vocalized, taking Armon by the hand so he could better feel her confusion. 

He gave her a lopsided grin, head tilting to the side. Gently, he pulled his hand free and slowly replied, CAN I PAINT YOU?

Coronis felt her mandibles pinch to her face. Armon could understand the louder, short words and phrases of  _ Lingua vocular,  _ the turian subvocal language of the deaf just like she could follow and understand his sign language when done slowly. They were each fascinated by the others’ silent language and avid students and teachers in turn, but learning a new dialect was a process, not a formula. It had taken Armon months to understand simple, three word questions asked in lingua vocular. She still had to ask him to repeat the intricate hand gestures of human sign-language, and to slow down his movements so she could ‘read’ them. 

Sometimes, it was easier to write. Pulling up her omni-tool, Coronis messaged him. 

**“You want to paint a picture of me? Like a portrait?”**

Armon looked over the scrawling orange text, a grin still tugging at his mouth. He shook his head, the movement making his dark, wavy hair sway. It caught the light and seemed to shine an almost indigo blue. 

Her wrist pinged, pulling her from thoughts about her boyfriend's fascinating hair.  **“No, I meant like what I do at work. With body paint. I’ve never had the chance to paint turian plates and carapice before and we just got some sample dextro paint into the studio.”**

Coronis chirped in surprise. Armon worked at a special effects studio and was the head make-up artist for the long-running asari medical drama, Blue Anatomy. He worked predominantly with asari, salarians, and other humans when it came to make-up and practical effects. Still, she’d watched the show and seen his portfolio. He knew what he was doing. 

**“I guess you can paint me, if you want.”** She took his hand again.  _ “But why?” _

FOR FUN, he signed. Seeing the uncertain look on her face, Armon moved to tenderly press his brow to hers. Coronis purred at the contact, eyes fluttering closed. They sat in the quiet of her room for a moment before Armon pulled away and typed on his tool. 

**“It’ll be fun, I promise. And nobody has to see, it can be an us only thing. I won’t take any pictures unless you want me to.”**

**“Why would I want pictures?”**

**“I’m good, Babe.”** He waggled his eyebrows at her. IN MANY WAYS.

Coronis snorted, but pulled him over to her for a hug.  _ “Okay,” _ she agreed. 

The following evening, Armon arrived at her apartment pulling a large, gray box on wheels behind him. His eyes were alight with excitement and the enthusiasm was catching. He’d already explained that this project would require her to pose nude, and while she wasn’t ashamed of her body, she wasn’t used to having people stare at it with a critical eye. 

YOU’RE SO GORGEOUS, he signed to her as she stood disrobed in the middle of her living room. Her mandibles flared in mild embarrassment. He’d seen her naked before--naked and  _ unplated, _ she might add. But this was different. This wasn’t nudity as a prelude to sex, it was nudity for the sake of art. 

Armon stepped up to her, gaze tender. REALLY, BABE. 

_ “You’re too sweet, love.”  _

He planted a quick kiss on her chin before going to his crate and setting out paint tubes, a spray gun of sorts, brushes, feathers, rhine-stones, and powders on the end table. Coronis was impressed at the variety of implements he’d brought.  _ Go big or go home, _ she thought. It was one of Armon’s favorite sayings. Humans had a lot of sayings. Some were totally illogical, others she rather liked.

WHAT COLOR? Armon moved to hold up two tubes. Both were paints made from a crushed shimmer powder that she was certain would make her plates gleam. She reached out a hand, hesitating before pointing at the purple one. 

Armon nodded eagerly before grabbing a small plastic tin that he tied to his wrist. He squirted the purple paint in it. He motioned for her to sit on the couch so he could start with her face. Once seated, Armon approached, looked her over and nodded to himself before selecting a medium sized brush from the large bouquet he’d brought.

The first stroke of cool paint on her mandibles felt… not bad. It was like gentle rain, but more controlled. Anytime she caught Armon’s eye he gave her that brilliant, dazzling smile she loved. 

Gradually, as he worked his way across her plates, adding other colors to his pallet, Coronis relaxed into the sensation. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was doing, but trusted that it’d be vibrant and colorful.  _ Just like him.  _

Armon was a thorough artist. When he’d finished her plates, he added special cosmetic shimmer powder around her eyes, and over the hide on her head. Then he began to paint her neck and cowl. When he reached her keel, he’d said he needed a break. Coronis glanced at her omni-tool and was shocked to see that three hours had passed since he started. 

**“Can I look?”** she typed. 

Armon read the message as he took a drink of water from a glass.  **“I want to finish, if that’s okay. I can lay out the design for your legs a lot faster. Humor me?”** He gave her a big-eyed, pleading look. 

Coronis chuckled and nodded her ascent, despite being incredibly curious. From what she could see on her arms and keel it looked like he’d painted flowers. Some she recognized from the Presidium gardens. Others were a mystery, though she assumed they were from Earth. Palaven certainly didn’t have big, red petaled blooms.

Armon had launched himself back into work shortly after his water break. This part required her to stand motionless while he loaded paint into an air-gun and used it to paint out the rest of his design. The cold air took some getting used to, but the thrill of the finished product kept her talons rooted to the ground. 

Time flowed by in the warm intimacy of the room. The paint he was using smelled mildly acidic, but wasn’t overpowering, at least. When at last he set the sprayer aside and stepped back to appraise his work, his brown eyes sparkled with pride. 

WANT TO SEE?

She nodded and walked back to her bedroom and the full length mirror. She froze.

Her plates scintillated in the light. Whites, indigo, purples, blacks, reds, golds… 

She was a skull and bones aflame with flowers and glittering gems strategically placed to enhance the living-dead appearance. 

**“I was inspired by a celebration from my mom’s home-country. It’s called** **_El Dia de los Muertos._ ** **Sugar skulls are a popular confection for alters. I’ll… explain that later. But, do you like it?”**

Coronis slowly turned around, taking in the blossoms winding up her legs and blooming over her pelvic plates, which had been rendered to look like a turian skeleton. Her eyes burned like twin stars from pools of crushed midnight powder. She was powerful. She felt… royal? No, not the correct word. She wasn’t sure how to convey her emotions. 

Armon had followed her into the bedroom and was now looking to her nervously from the doorway. She purred to set him at ease before taking his hands.  _ “I want a picture.” _

The last image of his face before her eyes closed and her mouth pressed to his in a passionate kiss was a blinding smile that made her pulse race. Yes, she definitely needed a picture. Maybe a few. 

Humans--or at least Armon--liked to say there was nothing more beautiful than love. His work was a testament to that. 

What a beautiful thing, to be loved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna go ahead and keep adding to this story. The rating might eventually change.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on Tumblr and decided to preserve it here.


End file.
